


Love and Other Fairy Tales

by Kanthia



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Awkward First Times, Body Worship, Insecurity, M/M, chubby!levi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-14
Updated: 2014-10-14
Packaged: 2018-01-24 16:57:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1612502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kanthia/pseuds/Kanthia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Levi's comfortable letting his insecurity turn to cynicism, thank you very much. Hell if he's going to let that hot celebrity chef opening up a restaurant on campus get under his skin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I blame [sassy-gay-levi](http://sassy-gay-levi.tumblr.com/post/85569833900/eruri-au-were-instead-of-levi-being-almost-sickly) for inspiring me. The thought of eruri with a heaping pile of insecurity-meets-body-worship was too wonderful to pass up. Probably will be a multichapter fic, once I get term papers out of the way.
> 
> Warning for internalized size shame and a bit of internalized homophobia.
> 
> Everyone has their own likes and dislikes, and I respect that fic is fantasy, so please mind the tags, and if it's not your cup of tea, don't read!

Levi’s the kind of guy who needs a green with every meal, so when he ducks into the little pub on campus and gets his menu, he immediately looks to the sandwich section. Voted most likely to come with a side green salad twenty years in a row. They do (or a side ceasar for an extra $2 -- but Levi’s wary of ceasar salads, usually have too much dressing), and so when the waiter slides over he orders a honey garlic chicken wrap, side salad, ranch dressing on the side. Glass of water.

The irony isn’t lost on him. Years of living in his own skin have taught him that if your clothes are baggy enough, people won’t notice, let alone laugh inside their skulls. He takes out his laptop and notebook, leeches the free campus wifi to work on an assignment he’d forgotten was due that evening (midterms out the ass -- fuck you very much, university), and is so engrossed in trying to figure out why his lab group’s steel sample had failed at such a ridiculous angle that he doesn’t notice a bunch of suits sitting down at the table next to him until the waiter has already served their pints.

It’s not uncommon for older men in suits to eat at the on-campus pub. Hell, for some people it was a tradition, the kind of people who claimed they still bled the school colours years after graduating, who showed up to the homecoming football game sporting painted faces and bald spots. Levi recognizes the school’s principal, a woman with greying hair curled tight around her head, toasting a man with neatly coiffed blond hair. Shit, he’s attractive, the kind of face that shouldn’t exist in real life. Levi’s eyes linger a little too long, and the man catches his gaze, smiles warmly, and Levi whips his head back to his computer a little too quickly. Sucks in his stomach on instinct. Feels like he’s lost his appetite, but his food arrives and it doesn’t look like complete shit, so he eats quickly and neatly, the tips of his ears red. Salad first, then the sandwich, hot and juicy. A bit of sauce escapes the sandwich, gets on his cheek. He wipes at it with his napkin, but not before he catches the blonde's eyes again. The man is sipping at his drink, ignoring the conversation happening at his table, definitely looking straight at Levi.

 _Fucking creeper_ , Levi thinks, but fuck if there’s a part of him that doesn’t mind those eyes on him. He snaps his laptop shut, finishes eating and settles the bill, and feels that gaze all the way out.

 

\----------

Nobody needs a reason for gaining weight. Levi definitely didn’t have one -- was just one of those unlucky souls whose weight clung to him like an unwelcome friend. He’d had a couple of months in senior year when he’d really cared, had flirted with diets and hitting the pavement in running shoes, but these days he’s tired of being insecure. He’s not surprised how quickly insecurity turned to cynicism.

He finds Hanji and Petra in the kitchen, making something that smells like chicken. Moblit is at the kitchen table reading the bi-weekly campus newspaper, and Gunther’s on the fire escape, smoking. Spring is blowing in with the smell of mud and meltwater. The five of them had met in first-year calculus and had scored a third-floor flat that wasn’t too bad if you didn’t mind the occasional bat getting in through the attic. Petra had been teaching Hanji to cook, with some success.

“Hey, Levi. Want a taste?” Hanji holds out a ladle of what appears to be chicken soup. Levi grimaces, grabs a bowl and spoon out of the cabinet and lets them fill his bowl. He sets it down at the table and blows softly on a hot spoonful, puts his backpack under his chair, before looking at the paper Moblit’s reading. He recognizes the face on the front cover.

“Hey,” he says. Moblit looks up. “Let me see that.” Moblit tilts his head to the side, but passes him the paper. Levi smooths it on the table, reads the front page article while eating Hanji’s soup (they’re getting better, but it still tastes a little overseasoned. They’ve always been way too eager about everything up to and including cumin). The university is opening a burger joint in the student centre, one of those local-organic-grain-fed-beef kind of places, and apparently the head chef’s kind of a big deal. One of those celebrities who travels around saving the world one free-range salmon cake at a time. Levi thinks he might have heard of Chef Erwin Smith somewhere, but there’s no mistaking that perfectly coiffed hair, those pale eyes.

Hanji leans over his shoulder. “Well, shit,” they say, as Levi pushes them out of his personal space. “Last thing we need is an expensive eatery driving up prices everywhere.”

Petra’s unconvinced. “It’ll make campus a little nicer,” she says, stirring the soup. “And it could be fun, you know, get a really nice meal to celebrate something without having to go downtown.”

“Downtown’s, like, a ten minute walk,” Gunther calls, from the fire escape.

“You know what I mean,” Petra returns. Moblit chuckles. Levi is firmly uncaring about the whole thing. He pulls out his laptop and gets back to work on the assignment before Hanji squeaks in surprise -- they’d forgotten about that assignment, as well. Then there’s furious typing, fudged numbers, and the assignment is submitted at 5:58 PM, precisely two minutes before it’s due.

 

\----------

Hanji wants to celebrate, and nobody has any midterms the next morning, so Levi finds himself back at the campus pub ordering a pale ale. The day crowd has given way to the night crowd. It’s fairly busy. The speakers are playing uppity pop music interlaced with 90s tunes that everyone knows the lyrics to, and it’s a kind of energy that Levi almost enjoys. You couldn’t help but get lost in a crowd of tipsy college students, become unnoticed. Hanji orders nachos for the table.

Two drinks apiece and Levi’s comfortably buzzed when Petra elbows him in the side. “Don’t look! But the chef guy, you know, the chef guy, he’s behind the bar.” She giggles. “Oh my God, Levi, he’s really hot.”

Erwin Smith is chatting amicably with the bar manager, in his chef whites. Petra's right, of course. Levi looks away, but apparently not quick enough, because the blond shakes the hand of the bar manager and makes his way over to the table where the five of them are drinking.

“Evening,” he says. Levi can’t help but look at his torso, and shit, it looks flat and Levi hates him for that. Without much of an invitation he pulls up a chair and sits down with them, across from Levi. Asks if he can sample the nachos, gets Hanji’s enthusiastic approval, and soon Erwin Smith is chatting with Petra about meatball recipes like he’s known the group for years. A pitcher of sangria arrives at the table. He pours them all a glass, calls for a toast to youth and excess. Levi thinks he’s being ridiculous, but in his buzz he hadn’t noticed that a hush had fallen over the pub, and everyone’s toasting with them. He hasn’t seen so much school spirit since a bunch of students flipped over a police car and set it on fire after the football team beat their rival school for the national championship.

A not-so-gentle nudge on his arm shakes him out of his thoughts. Chef Smith’s eyes are on him; it’s obvious he’s just asked a question, but he’s smiling. “Sorry,” Levi mumbles, feeling disarmed. “Didn’t catch that.”

“Civil engineering,” Hanji says. “Same as me.”

“Interesting.” Smith seems genuinely interested in the worst possible way. To avoid further conversation, Levi tilts his drink back and drains it. It tastes peachy, definitely not something on the regular menu. “What made you decide on Civil?”

Is he hitting on Hanji? If Smith is thinking about doing anything to them, Levi will slit his throat. But his eyes are level, searching, and definitely on Levi. “They had ice cream at the faculty booth,” Levi spits, a little harder than he’d intended.

Smith can probably tell it’s bullshit -- but, well, Levi doesn’t share thoughts with strangers. He smiles and that’s the kind of smile that could depose a dictator and save the world. “Well,” Smith says, pulling out his wallet, “I’ll cover your table, if you don’t mind.” He pulls out what looks like a business card and hands it to Levi. “I’m opening a restaurant on campus -- right down the hall. To drum up interest while we’re under construction, I’m doing this fun little challenge, I’ll come over and make dinner with whatever you’ve got in your fridge.” He stands up (fuck, he’s tall), hails the waiter and flashes a credit card.

 _What the fuck_ , Levi thinks, staring at the card in his hand.

 

\----------

“We should call him,” Gunther says, the following afternoon. Levi’s been slammed with the pile of assignments he’d been putting off for midterms and certainly doesn’t have time to make something good for dinner, and there’s a pile of cut vegetables in the fridge that are going to go bad if they don’t do something, nestled next to Hanji and Petra’s soup.

“He’s going to be busy. Probably booked for the next year,” Levi says, as he fishes out his cell phone. Fucker has a local number. He dials, and it rings three times before someone picks up.

“Chef Smith,” the voice on the other end of the line says and shit, Levi hadn’t planned this far ahead.

“It’s Levi,” he says, before he can think enough to cause an awkward silence. “From last night. You bought us sangria.”

“Ask him to make us dinner,” Gunther says.

“Oh, of course,” Smith says. Levi can hear pots and pans clanging in the background. “I’ll need time to set up, check what’s in your fridge, see what equipment you have. Can someone be home tomorrow afternoon at 4? There are five of you, right?”

Levi relays the information to Gunther, who shrugs. They’ve all taped their schedules to the fridge and wouldn’t you know it, Levi’s the only person not in class at that time. “Yeah, I guess,” he says.

“Perfect.” He asks for their address, which Levi gives, and then hangs up with the promise that he’s excited to catch up with them. Levi stares at his phone for a while before retiring to his room.

He doesn’t usually stress eat -- he’d gotten rid of that habit in first year, taught himself self-control and how to bottle everything up -- but that night he ends up with a half-dozen donuts, and after he’s disposed of the evidence he jacks off with the door shut and headphones on, and shit, it’s lonely not being able to trust people.

 

\----------

Chef Smith arrives precisely on time with a folder tucked under one arm, in his chef whites with the top button undone and folded down. He has to duck to make it into the kitchen, hitting the one squeaky floor tile as he does. Levi’s in a baggy hoodie. He’d been so wound up he’d taken no notes in class, just stared straight forward, and he hasn’t eaten anything all day. He’s not sure if the feeling in his stomach is nerves or hunger. Probably both.

He sits in the kitchen awkwardly trying to do a lit review on soil erosion as Smith examines the cupboards, the fridge, the oven. He grabs a spoon and tastes the leftover soup, grimaces.

“That was Hanji and Petra,” Levi says, too quickly. “They got kind of excited about spices.”

“Better too much than too little.” Smith pulls the pot out of the fridge. “I think I can do something with this.”

He asks for the radio, hums along to pop music while he cooks. The kitchen starts smelling better and better, and every so often Smith gets him to taste something, holds a spoon up to Levi’s lips and watches intently for a reaction as Levi swallows. Levi says “It’s good” ten times before Smith starts asking more specific questions -- is it too spicy? Too bland? And what about the texture?

“Jesus, Smith,” Levi says, finally. “You must really enjoy this.”

“‘Erwin’ is fine. And I do. There are plenty of reasons that people go into the food industry, but I’ve always clung to the thought that the best way to make someone happy is to cook them a good meal.” He opens the oven, puts a dish in, and closes it, then sits down at the table next to Levi. “And you? I get the feeling you weren’t telling the complete truth the other night.”

Levi is of two minds. Smith -- Erwin -- is so disarmingly genuine, or maybe it’s all part of the celebrity chef act. The previous night, when he was busy convincing himself that love stories were things that happened to hot guys, he had looked the man up on Wikipedia, and was somewhat surprised to discover that he wasn’t married. A hopeless romantic with his love life under wraps, or a pervert. Maybe both.

He goes for honesty. “A bridge near where I grew up collapsed, when I was in high school. Hadn’t put in the rebar properly. Shitty concrete. Stepdad was --” He swallows, hard. He’s over it, he’s over it. “-- It was stupid. The bridge had been crumbling for ages. Bunch of fuckin’ pigs running city council, stuffing the restoration budget in their pockets with their heads up their asses.”

“You don’t have to say any more,” Erwin says, softly. Levi doesn’t. He twists his mouth, and Erwin hesitates for a moment before putting his hand on Levi’s shoulder and squeezing, gently. They sit like that for a few long moments, the kitchen hot and smelling like chicken, until Levi’s stomach growls and ruins the moment. Erwin gives a stronger squeeze, a little chuckle, and goes back to the oven to check on dinner. Soon Moblit’s home, then the rest of them, and the six of them sit down to a dinner of some kind of baked pasta and it’s hot and delicious and Erwin watches him eat.

 

\----------

Somehow he agrees to dinner with Chef Smith -- Erwin -- at a little restaurant-cafe by campus. (“I had your number, from when you called. Just want to catch up, get to know my potential clientele a little better.”) Erwin orders a veggie burger and a latte, eats with a fork and knife like some sort of prissy connoisseur. Levi orders a wrap sandwich with a side salad. Erwin is in a grey v-neck t-shirt and worn blue jeans and Levi wonders what shitty universe conspired to put together a chef in such good shape.

They chat about normal people things. Erwin is seemingly genuinely interested in the goings-on around campus, like where students usually get food, where they shop for groceries, when and where the weekly farmer’s market is set up. Levi has a lot of things he wants to know about what it’s like being a celebrity but doesn’t know how to ask.

“You wear a lot of baggy clothing,” Erwin notes, as they finish up. Levi starts, almost dropping his sandwich. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to pry.”

“Nothing to pry into.” He puts what’s left of his sandwich down, pushes the plate away, stands up. Erwin lunges forward, grabs his wrist.

“Ah, shoot. Sorry.” Erwin drops the wrist. Levi looks up, face blank. “Look, let me make you dessert. I have a new recipe I’d like to try out, and I’d like your unbiased opinion. If you’d let me.”

Levi has absolutely no idea what this guy’s endgame is, and maybe he’s following to try to figure out exactly how many screws Erwin has loose. Erwin drives a silver minivan packed full of cooking equipment and random shit, but at least ( _at least_ ) the passenger seat looks fairly clean. He’s holed up at the expensive hotel in the centre of downtown, nice view of the waterfront, a double room furnished sparsely. It seems like all of Erwin’s attention had been on fitting the kitchenette; the TV looks like it hasn’t been given a second thought, but appliances and cutting boards clutter the counterspace. Levi awkwardly seats himself on the couch as Erwin starts moving around in the kitchen. He can’t help but watch. He finds himself understanding why this guy has Youtube subscribers in the millions -- he moves so naturally, so easily.

Dessert is a maple-bacon-Baileys crème brûlée. Erwin cracks the top with a practiced hand and offers Levi his portion in a fancy black ramekin with a tiny little spoon, before taking a seat next to him. It’s good, way better than the shit Levi usually eats.

“What do you think?” There’s cream on Erwin’s upper lip and Levi’s mind is going nasty places without his permission. Levi looks down and to the left, anywhere but the sharp line of Erwin’s collarbone. It’s so absurd, everything is so ridiculous.

“It’s nice.” He’s trembling. What the fuck. The spoon goes wide; he wipes at his cheek with the back of a hand.

Erwin leans forward, right into his personal space. “Hold on, you’ve got some left over.” Flicks the pad of his thumb over Levi’s cheek. Absurd. _Fifty Shades of Grey_ level bullshit. Package it up and sell it as a three-part romance novel. Erwin’s breath is hot and moist, smells like maple syrup. Is he waiting for Levi to do something? Levi has no idea what to do. This is the kind of shit hot gays with toned bodies do to each other. Erwin’s searching into his eyes, doing that thing where Levi feels like he’s taking him apart, looking right at the scared, insecure guy under his skin.

“Do you mind if I --”

“Just --” Levi squirms. “Just do _something_ , god damn it.”

He’s entirely expecting the cameras to come out, the newest episode of _Chef Smith Punks a Fat Homo_ to air later that day, but holy shit, is this what kissing feels like? He'd forgotten. It’s warm and hot, tastes like bacon, and when Erwin’s tongue darts out Levi turns to fudge. Levi’s holding onto his ramekin like his life depends on it, but Erwin sets his down on the coffee table, takes Levi’s and puts it down next to it, places a hand on Levi’s shoulder and pushes him down, gently, so that his back is flush with the couch as Erwin peppers the side of his neck with kisses. As soon as his hands touch the hem of Levi’s sweater Levi flinches, scrambles to push himself away.

Erwin stops. His pupils are dilating, his lips red, and fuck if that bulge in his jeans isn’t bigger than Levi remembers, but he gives space as Levi arranges his arms over his waist. “Sorry,” Levi mumbles. He’s just eaten dinner and dessert, doesn’t want Erwin to see. “You won’t --”

“Please.” Erwin’s tone is warm, soft. He crawls forward, nestles himself between Levi’s legs. “Trust me.”

Levi has no fucking clue what trust feels like, but supposes that the only thing he has to lose is a fantasy that was never going to go anywhere, anyways. He tries his best to keep himself still as Erwin slowly pulls his hoodie up, then his faded t-shirt, revealing the pale skin underneath.

“Jesus, you -- _fuck_ ,” Levi manages, when Erwin kisses him just below his navel, places two hands on his stomach and kisses him down to the top of his jeans. Levi screws his eyes shut and tries to breathe and hold off from coming in his pants but shit, Erwin’s hands are everywhere, teasing his nipples and ghosting along his waistband, playing with the soft hair around his belly button. “Shit. Erwin. I don’t --”

“I don’t care what anyone’s told you,” Erwin says, quietly, as he sits back to throw his shirt off. He trails his hands down Levi’s chest, to his jeans, pops the button and pulls the fly down. “You’re gorgeous. I’d quite like to devour you, whole.” When Erwin takes Levi’s hands, gently guides him to open those faded blue jeans, Levi palms his hot cock and there’s no denying that something is getting Erwin hard. He pulls it out, gently, and shit it’s porn-star huge, runs his finger along the slit and Erwin _growls_ in a way that gets Levi’s heart hammering.

It’s really ironic, the way Erwin acts like Levi’s good to look at, but it’s also really erotic, and the thought that he’s turned on by someone finding him attractive is kind of fucked up, gets a laugh stuck in his throat.

Erwin’s lips are back on his, as he lowers himself just enough to get some purchase on Levi’s abdomen and Levi gives a few slow, experimental tugs. One hand is on the couch for balance, the other pushing Levi’s boxers down and it’s hot and heavy, the feeling of his cock sliding up against Erwin’s, that gorgeous body looming over him making him feel both small and powerful. Erwin opens his hand over Levi’s and guides them so their cocks are together, Erwin’s hand on top of Levi’s, taking control of the pace and twisting as they go down.

Erwin pulls out of the kiss, just far enough that there’s a line of spit connecting them, mutters “Fuck, Levi,” speeds up their hands. There’s precum beading at the tip of their dicks that makes it smoother, more intimate, more desperate. Levi feels himself breathing hard; Erwin’s red, flush down his cheeks.

There’s an unmistakable feeling of tightness in Levi’s balls that he can’t hold back, something about how open and wild Erwin looks on top of him, and manages to get out “Erwin, I’m gonna --” before he loses it, muscles locking as he comes with a gasp and a shudder that hits him in waves, and Erwin follows not long after, coming thick and heavy and hard onto Levi’s stomach, before breathing out with a long sigh, and lowering himself down.

“Shit,” Levi groans, after a few moments of collecting himself. Erwin is lazily playing with the cooling mess on the rise of Levi’s body, tracing faint stretch marks Levi had swore nobody would ever have to see, looking thoroughly fucked and pleased with himself.

“You’re welcome to use the shower.” Erwin pushes himself up, then fondles Levi’s stomach, almost appreciatively. “I’d like to make dinner again for you, some time in the near future, if you wouldn’t mind.”

Something clicks in Levi’s mind. “You’re not making dinner for just anyone.”

Erwin grins. “Was that too forward? You looked like you’d appreciate someone going out of their way to pick you up.”

What the fuck did he do to deserve someone like him?

“You big, stupid, gorgeous piece of shit,” Levi says.

He stays the night.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fights! Plus self-hate and blowjobs. Warning for a moment of accidental misgendering and internalized size shame.

True to his word, two days later Levi gets a text from Erwin about dinner. His phone goes off in the middle of a lecture on soil mechanics and high-rise foundations, and when he checks it under the desk, he almost drops the phone. Hanji leans over, eyes gleaming.

“Was wondering why you didn’t come home the other night,” they whisper, a little too loud. Levi resists the urge to smack them upside the head -- the morning after, he’d shown up to his 8:30 lecture exactly on time, showered but wearing the same rumpled clothes he’d gone to sleep in. This close to midterms nobody thinks twice about someone showing up to class looking like shit. He’d thought nobody would catch on. “So, can I call the tabloids yet?”

“Shut up.” The text reads, _Dinner tonight? My place @ 8, eat a small lunch_.

Levi wonders if it’s normal to ask people to eat small lunches. His stomach twists, a million what-if scenarios running through his head. _He’s a chef_ , Levi tells himself, swallowing a surge of anger. _Maybe he’s just making a lot for dinner_. It’s not much to run on, but he figures if shit goes south it’s just one more bridge to burn.

He shows up at Erwin’s exactly on time, takes the stairs and knocks twice. Erwin answers, wearing a stained apron over a t-shirt and sweatpants. Levi wrinkles his nose -- the kitchenette behind him is a complete mess. It smells okay, though, like fish and something fried, and Erwin guides him to the kitchen table and two plates of some kind of fish.

“They’re baked salmon steaks glazed with a pomegranate molasses,” Erwin says, as the two of them sit down. “Those are baked plantains next to your fish. Wine?” Levi nods, and Erwin pours him a glass of white. 

It’s awkward and quiet until Erwin starts asking him about the food -- how it tastes, what could be better, if Levi likes the plantains. Levi answers, and somehow gets Erwin talking about his career, what it’s like opening a restaurant and if every chef is like Gordon Ramsay. (“Gordon Ramsay isn’t even like Gordon Ramsay,” Erwin says, laughing. “I suppose you need to be tough to keep people in line, but if you’re not good to those around you, they’ll leave. People like to have someone to look up to.”) 

Shit, it’s weird, having cute little conversations about cooking with a dude he’d jerked off, and after Levi finishes his portion Erwin asks him if he wants more. Levi does, but he’s not sure if he’s supposed to say so, and Erwin takes his silence for a yes, takes a dish out of the oven and slides another filet onto Levi’s plate.

After dinner they retire to the couch. Erwin flicks on the TV, to some news about a fire, and Levi wonders if this is how people usually conduct affairs, if Erwin’s married to some hot woman out of town, and he looked around for the most unlikely guy in the city to get his rocks off. He turns to Erwin, an accusation in his mouth, but Erwin’s arm is snaking over, up his thigh.

“If you want to --” He stops, freezes, as Erwin lays a hand on his stomach, gently. “What the fuck --”

Erwin’s hand shies away. “I’m --”

“No, it’s okay.” Levi grabs the hand, places it back. He’s feeling warm. Maybe it’s the wine, or maybe this is all too stupid to be real. “Just do what you want.”

\----------

“And then he gave you a _tummy rub_?”

“Yeah.” Levi’s hiding his face behind his laptop, but he’s pretty sure Hanji has completely given up on their lab report in order to get the whole story out of him. “And after a while I got tired, and he offered me half of his bed for the night.”

“That’s pretty great, actually.” He looks up; Hanji’s tapping a pencil on their lip. “Y’know, not doing anything you didn’t want to do. I was afraid I’d have to do something illegal to him.”

Levi’s not sure what to think about the whole thing. He’s used to being fucked around with, learned the hard way in high school that if you open yourself up people will slip through the cracks and stick knives into whatever they find, but Erwin is allowing him to break his own rules: the no-eating-on-dates rule, the no-going-home-with-a-hot-guy rule, the no-letting-someone-see-anything rule. And fuck if he didn’t make a good crème brûlée. But that’s what had drawn him to Hanji in the first place -- not the cooking ability (Hanji was still learning the difference between chicken bouillon and fish stock) but their ability to know when Levi needed someone to make him check his own bullshit, and when he needed them to back the fuck off.

“Hey,” Levi says, without meaning to. Hanji tilts their head. “If you’re so earnest about this cooking thing, why not ask Smith? He’d probably cream his pants at the opportunity to teach someone.”

“You’re willing to share? And here I thought you were greedy, Levi.”

Levi smacks them, lightly, on the head with a copy of _Introduction to hydraulics and hydrology with applications for stormwater management_ by John E. Gribbin.

\----------

Smith says yes, of course, invites the five of them over for a cooking class, which Moblit respectfully declines for his life drawing club. Gunther works on an assignment on the dining room table while Erwin teaches Hanji and Petra to make ravioli. Levi attempts to do work, keeps getting distracted by the way Erwin’s lips form around words.

“You don’t need to press that hard,” he says, when Petra puts her weight into the pasta dough, and he puts her hands on her shoulders. “Here. Be gentle with it. I once took a masterclass under Joe Bastianich -- have you heard of him? I think he was a judge on _Masterchef_ \-- and he talked for an hour about how to make love to pasta dough.” She giggles. “There, that’s it. All you have to do to get someone to relax is make them laugh.”

Levi’s not jealous, not one bit. Not one fucking bit. Dinner is cheese ravioli in a sage and walnut sauce and Hanji’s impressed at how good it is and how easy it was, wonders about dessert pasta and breakfast pasta and Erwin laughs and says he’d never considered Frosted Flakes in a fried ravioli. Levi suspects he’ll be eating pasta with weird fillings for the rest of his university career.

After dessert (a chocolate-cherry cheesecake with a crust of crushed Oreo cookies, which Gunther in a rare moment swears is the most delicious thing he’s ever tasted) Gunther takes his leave, partly because he has to print something off at the library and partly because he hadn’t felt comfortable smoking anywhere near Erwin’s kitchen, and Hanji takes Petra by the wrist saying that they need to buy flour and milk and eggs before the grocery store closes. Levi lingers in the doorway, not sure what to say or do, and Erwin invites him back in for coffee.

Hell’s Kitchen is on. Smith laughs at it like it’s some kind of sitcom, swears that no restaurant in the universe is run like that, it’s all set up to make the contestants fail in hilarious ways. Halfway through the episode he turns to Levi, who’s been trying to figure out how to take the words in his mouth and make them real.

“You have a good group of friends,” he says, as if Levi wasn’t aware that he lucked out and ended up with a bunch of solid people who put up with him for no discernable reason. “It makes me wonder if you care about yourself as much as you care about them.”

Levi starts, then looks up. Erwin’s face reads nothing but serious. “Where the fuck did that come from?”

“You strike me as the kind of person who’s tired of looking after themselves.”

“What the fuck?” Levi stands up, and Erwin’s face falls; he looks shocked and upset and Levi is having none of his psychoanalyzing bullshit. “Is that what this is all about? You wanted to stroke your charitable dick by fucking the ugly out of a fat kid? Are you blogging about this whole thing? _Greetings, Livejournal, today I made him ravioli and told him he was perfectly fine the way he is_ \--”

He’s standing, too, and he’s so fucking tall and gorgeous Levi wants to punch a hole in a wall. “Levi, I didn’t mean any of that. You’re not --”

“Shut the fuck up! Go on Grindr and find some decent eye candy if you’re so fucking desperate! Why the fuck --”

“-- _Levi_!” There’s a commanding tone in his voice that shuts Levi right up. “ _I’m not responsible for your insecurities!_ ”

Levi opens his mouth, and nothing comes out. He balls his fists and swallows an enormous lump in his throat and thinks _don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t you fucking dare cry_. He just wanted to ride this fantasy until it died and here he is, fucking it up as usual. Erwin takes a deep breath and lets it out, slowly.

“I’m sorry,” Erwin says, finally, and Levi squeezes his eyes shut to stop anything from leaking. “I’m not -- used to this. Forgive me.”

“Just let me go,” Levi manages, and Erwin lets him go.

\----------

A week later he gets a text that says, _can we try this again? campus pub at 9?_ and Levi spends the whole day wondering what to do. Without meaning to, his feet carry him there at precisely 8:50, where Erwin already has a table and something to eat.

“Oh,” he says, standing up. “Levi. I didn’t think you would come.”

Levi says nothing, sits down and crosses his arm, assesses Smith and tries not to think about anything like how his t-shirt shows off his biceps, or how distressing it is to see those blue eyes knotted in worry. Smith gives him space until the waiter comes by and Levi orders water.

“Have something to eat,” Smith says. Levi feels his mouth press into a harder line. “Hanji says you haven’t eaten much all week.”

Levi’s whole body stiffens. “You fucker. You stay away from them.”

“She -- fuck, sorry, they -- told me some things, about you. After they threatened to, what was it? Bury me up to my neck and cover me in fire ants. -- There we go. That’s what I was missing.”

Levi forces the smile off his face. “Don’t drag them into this.”

“Get something to eat? If not for me, at least for Hanji.”

Levi orders a hamburger with a house salad. It arrives with the dressing on the salad, and Levi frowns as he pokes about the salad for a dry green.

“I --” Erwin starts saying, and Levi shoots him a death glare. Erwin clears his throat. “-- I’ve noticed that you’re very particular about a lot of things, especially food. I worry about you.”

“Maybe if I was a skinny little shit we’d have a problem,” Levi mumbles. 

Erwin interlaces his fingers and rests them under his chin. “You seem to hold yourself to a much higher standard than anyone else. Just because you don’t fit into someone’s idea of suffering doesn’t mean you have to do it alone.”

Levi pauses with the fork halfway to his mouth. Fucking Chef Erwin Smith and his piercing blue eyes, his way of seeing things Levi keeps hidden, his kindness that Levi doesn’t deserve. “Fuck,” he says, and that’s all he can manage.

“I see a lot of things in you,” Erwin says, as Levi looks down, anywhere but into his eyes. “I wish I could tell you what I see, but I’m afraid I’ll hurt you. You don’t need someone else to hurt you, the way you hurt yourself.”

Levi’s lost his appetite, and after Erwin finishes eating and pays, he gets the hamburger and salad in a to-go box. Invites Levi over for dessert. Levi lets himself follow Erwin into his stupid silver minivan, all the way back to his stupid little hotel room.

“This is so fucked up,” Levi says, as Erwin flicks on the lights. “Next you’re going to tell me you have a subscription to _Dimensions_.”

“That’s --” Erwin pauses, then turns to Levi, shocked. “How do you know about that?”

“What the fuck.”

“Levi, it was -- oh, my God, it was a phase, I was figuring myself out, I --”

Absolutely unbelievable. This hot celebrity worms his way into Levi’s life and he’s a fucking chubby chaser. “You piece of shit.”

“--How do _you_ know about that magazine?”

Levi’s fury evaporates, suddenly. Erwin’s holding the takeout box looking flabbergasted, curious, and so fucking hot. “I --” Levi doesn’t even know where to begin, all those nights drinking in the fantasy that there was someone out there who understood. “Erwin, I --” Maybe he just wanted a little self-love on a long night, and is that such a big fucking deal?

Against everything that tells him to do something more impressive, a laugh worms its way out of his mouth and he’s choking on it, the incredulity of it all, this whole situation. He’s laughing so hard he starts hiccupping, and Erwin puts the takeout box down and gathers him in his big fucking arms, holds him until he’s done.

“Shit,” Levi says, finally. “Maybe we’re both a little fucked up.”

“Sex was never a good way to get over a problem. Maybe we should start again, from the beginning. Do you trust me?”

Levi trusts Erwin all the way to his bed, where Erwin sets him down on his back and kisses him, tenderly, on the lips. It’s better than Levi deserves, and then Erwin tucks a hand under Levi’s head and turns his head and shit it’s good, tongue and the taste of someone’s affection, fear and desire at the same time. Erwin grinds into him and swallows the keening sound that comes out of Levi, then breaks the kiss, licks his lips and pushes himself down the rise of Levi’s chest, kneels at the foot of the bed.

“Shit, Erwin. I --”

“-- It’s okay. Relax. Is it okay if I --”

“--Yeah. Just -- oh, fuck.” Erwin’s unbuttoning Levi's jeans, unzips them and pushes them down, rubs his cock through his boxers and Levi wishes he wasn’t getting so hard so fast. “Shit. Fuck.”

“I saw fire in you,” Erwin says, as he runs the flat of his palm up and down. “Someone who had lost something, and through that, found something worth fighting for.”

“Please, Erwin,” Levi says, and he can't enunciate the way that praise embarasses him, the way his own reactions scare him, because he’s losing control, and most days that’s all he has. “I don’t -- have -- anything --”

Erwin eases his mouth onto the head of Levi’s cock and it’s better than he imagined, hot and wet and blurred at the edges, and when he sucks gently Levi finds himself grasping at the sheets, unable to think of anything but the obscene sound of a chef sucking dick. He goes agonizingly slow, lets Levi adjust to each new burst of sensations, the feeling of warm breath on the vein on the underside, kisses on his balls, tongue at the slit.

“I’d like to finger you,” Erwin says, taking a moment before returning to the base of Levi’s cock. “Find your prostate and give you what you deserve.” Levi can’t help but let out a long and breathy moan, bites his bottom lip to stop anything else from getting out. “Relax, Levi. You’re tense. Just -- let it go.”

Levi tries, really tries, wants to show Erwin that he can do this. Erwin gives him time to readjust and Levi’s sweating, breathing hard, holding it all in. Erwin returns to his cock. It’s too much, it’s too much, it’s too much.

Erwin swallows with a smile, damn him. They lock eyes as Erwin slowly wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, then says, “It’s quite high in zinc, from what I’ve heard, and low in sodium. I wonder if I could come up with a dish --”

The pun does not escape Levi, and he barks out a laugh, and Erwin laughs with his lips still wet, and fuck, this wasn’t supposed to happen. They shower together, afterwards, and Levi insists on reciprocating, though Erwin insists that Levi owes him nothing; lets Erwin teach him what he likes, sucks that huge-ass cock and it’s good, being able to trust someone.

The corner table clock reads 7:13 when Levi is forced awake by the intolerant rays of the morning sun. He has an 8:30 lecture. Erwin’s arm is thrown over him, holding him tight to his chest, and when Levi looks up he sees the line of his jaw softer in sleep despite a little stubble, the almost inaudible sound of his breathing, the rise and fall of him, and Levi in that moment feels like he would follow Erwin off the edge of a cliff, and he’s almost terrified at the thought.

The alarm goes off at 8. Levi makes it to his lecture just in time.

\----------

“You have a right to be mad,” Hanji says, playing with their teacup. “I was being selfish.”

“It’s all right. I trust you.”

Hanji looks up, raising one eyebrow. It’s 2 AM and they’re on the couch, the five of them, drinking tea and watching a shitty film Hanji found called _Robogeisha_ , their everyone-finished-midterms-and-no-one-died tradition. “That’s good,” they say, smiling and tucking themselves into the crook of Levi’s arm. Petra’s leaning against his other side, and Moblit’s on the ground leaning against his legs, and Gunther’s sitting on the other side of Petra with his arm around her, and maybe, just maybe, he had something going for him all along.

“Doesn’t mean I won’t cover him in fire ants if he pulls anything like that again, though,” they add, and Levi snorts.

**Author's Note:**

> You can also find me on [tumblr](http://kanthia.tumblr.com/)! Comments and kudos are very much appreciated.


End file.
